Yorksher Puddin': A Collection of the Most Popular Dialect Stories from the Pen of John HartleyHartley, John
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Yorksher Puddin': A Collection of the Most Popular Dialect Stories from the Pen of John Hartley
Hartley, John
English language -- Dialects -- England -- Yorkshire; Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
It tuk him a long time to get to Rodger's tho' it wor'nt aboon hauf a
mile, an' when he tell'd what he'd come for, Rodger lukt at him an' sed
"Well, tha'll do varry weel as far as thi face an' figger's consarned,
for tha luks as solid as a tombstun, but if aw gie thi th' job tha mun
promise to drive as a'w tell thi, for aw seckt th' last chap aw had
becoss he wod drive ta fast when he wor aght o' mi seet; an' tha knows
ther's nowt luks wor nor a gallopin funeral, an' aw want somdyaw can
trust."
"Yo, can trust me, an if yo'll gie me th' job aw warrant awl, drive just
as slow as yo want. But what's th'wage?"
"Ten shillin a wick, an' tha'll have as mich curran cake an' warm ale as
tha can teim into thi, an' thi clooas all fun for nowt."
"Awl tak it, an' yo can let me know when awm to start."
"Tha'l have to start to-day, for old. Nancy has to be buried this
afternooin, soa tha can stop an' have a bit o' dinner an' wesh thi face,
an' put on thi black clooas an' start off."
"Awm nooan in a hurry to start, but if yo'd rayther I did, why, ov
coorse awl do as yo say." Soa he did as he wor ordered, an' in a varry
short time Rodger gate him all ready an' th' heears browt aght, an' they
booath gate onto th' box, an' Rodger set off to th' haase drivin varry
slowly. "Nah," he said, "tha mun watch me ha aw drive, an' tha mun drive
th' same way, or slower if owt. Aw know tha'rt nooan fonda' fussin
thisen, an' aw dooant want thi to hurry th' horse."
"Awl hurry nowt," he sed. When they gate to th' haase Rodger waited wal
he saw all ready and then he left him. Ther wor noa danger o' anybody
gettin that horse to goa at maar nor three miles i'th' haar, for it wor
booath laim an' blind, an' seem'd varry mich inclined to drop on its
knees at ivvery step. It started off at snail pace, but even that wor
too mich for Joa.
"Wo, gently!" he sed, an' it stood stock still.
"When are ta gooin to start?" sed one o'th' mourners, "if tha does'nt
mind we'st be too lat to get into th' Cemetary."
"Thee mind thi' own business,--aw've getten mi orders."
"Tha'll have to hurry up or else we'st be to lat aw tell thi! We're all
stall'd o' waitin!"
"Its nooan thee at we're baan to bury or tha wodn't be i' sich a hurry.
Awst tak noa orders nobbut throo Rodger or Nancy, soa tha can shut up."
Th' old horse started off agean, an' at last they gate to th' far end,
but it wor ommost dark, an' when they'd taen th' coffin aght o'th'
heears he drew up to one side to wait wol th' ceremony wor ovver, an'
when th' fowk caom throo th' grave side Joa wor fast asleep, an' th'
horse too, soa they left' em whear they wor an' went hooam.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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